Nevermore
by x-Earl-Ciel-Phantomhive-x
Summary: This work was not written about a Raven. It was written for him.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The characters and all other affiliations of Black Butler belong to Yana Toboso. I also have no claim over the rights to Edgar Allen Poe's 'The Raven.'

Summary: This is a poem written in correlation with Edgar Allen Poe's 'The Raven.' The events are slightly different, as are the characters featured. For those of you who may be confused, Ciel will play the part of the Poet, Sebastian the Raven. I realize that lines and quotes may be incredibly similar to those of Poe. I ask that you look upon that kindly. It is supposed to be a parody of the work, after all, and I have rejected all claims to rights and restrictions in the disclaimer.

Author's Note: Originally, this was intended to be a one-shot, but I simply find it more entertaining to toy with the patience of this story's intended. It's much more fun to wait in anticipation for the next chapter than to read everything at once and have your fun be ended abruptly, right, demon? _-smirk-_ If you write me a story, strange Raven…I will write you a poem.

xXx

Late into the midnight hour, in a melancholy tower,

In a chamber draped in velvet, dark, oppressive to the core,

Sat a figure, lonely, silent, uninspired, yet defiant,

Young in years, of fragile form, with talent did the world adore;

With pretty face and tongue of fire all the world did so adore;

And all that world he did abhor.

Ink-welled quill aloft and yearning, dark, suppressed desires burning,

Stomach twisting, clenching, churning, inspiration so longed for;

Still elusive, agitation, parchment blank, a condemnation,

Parched and dry as his mind's well, inspiration quenched no more;

Inspiration, flown with _her_, along the Night's dark, gluttonous shore;

Lost to him forevermore.

Work abandoned in the silence, mind to quill gave no compliance,

Head reclining, velvet kissed by ash, small ankles scuff the floor;

Azure gaze a frozen warning, sharp with bitter sorrow, mourning,

Singularly visible, as other lay a cover o'er;

Sightless from the Fire that had taken all he'd had before;

Taken all he'd had and more.

Silence gave to reverie, of darling lost, of sweet 'Lizzie,'

A whisper soft upon his lips, as waves upon the shore;

Darkness thickened with his sorrow, how he longed for light of 'morrow,

Light to break the chains that bound him in this room, behind this door;

Bound him to his velvet chair upon the painted marble floor;

To quill, and velvet throne, and door.

Presently, the air grew colder; gooseflesh graced the Poet's shoulder,

As though someone else was present, darkness thicker than before;

Irony of reverie, followed by the density

Of air and presence plagued the Poet's mind and soul and very core;

Filled him with a terror, curiosity not felt before…

Then a rapping at his door.

Velvet arms gripped tightly, frightened, reigning peace with all his might, and

Quelling fear 'neath repetition, all to reassure;

Wild heat beat Poet taming, mask of ice replaced, proclaiming,

"'Tis a nightly visitor who knocks upon my chamber door;

Shadow, Ghost, or Devil not; just a gentle visitor."

Small footfalls graced the floor.

Upon approaching, hesitation, intuition, trepidation,

Presence heavy, blackened shadows seeped from underneath the door;

Should his thought be firmly grounded? His belief would be astounded;

Fragile fingers slow approached the ornate handle of the door;

Name nostalgic whispered from the Poet's quivering lips once more;

Then he opened up the door.

Darkness poured forth, hot wind rushing, suffocating, crushing,

Forcing Poet backward, as the heavy presence passed the door;

Fear consuming, sight restricted, body trembling, afflicted,

Small heels dug into the painted marble of the chamber floor;

Wind retreating, giving sight to visitor at chamber door;

Darkness there and nothing more.

Suddenly, of all strange things, inward flew on blackened wings

A Raven with vermilion gaze which into his soul bore.

A Raven, black as darkest night, of graceful stance and silent flight,

With presence ominous, a presence one cannot ignore,

With sharpened talons, ravenous beak, and croaking low and sore;

Just a Raven, nothing more.

As the odd guest was observed, curiosity deserved,

Azure clashed with crimson as the darkness closed the chamber door.

One held fear, the other glee, as the grim guest silently

Perched upon the marble bust of white above his chamber door;

On marble face of Father also lost to Night's dark, gluttonous shore;

Perched as though he had before.

Long into those eyes he wandered, long into that gaze he pondered,

What such visitor had perched itself upon his chamber door?

Then he ventured through the fire, swelled the courage to inquire,

"Pray thee, tell me of thy name. What do you seek here, visitor?"

He would swear the bird then smiled, eyes aglow and croaking sore;

"Just a shadow, nothing more."

Once again confused and shaken, surely he must be mistaken,

For so odd an answer had the Poet never heard before;

Yet the Raven perched in silence, spoken word his one compliance,

"Come, you've sought me out, dark Raven; trampled upon my safe haven.

Won't you tell of thy name upon the Night's dark, gluttonous shore?

Tell me what they call you on the darkest Night's bloodthirsty shore?"

Croaked he softly, "Nevermore."

Spoken with an ominous knowing, Poet's apprehension showing,

Turning back to chair and parchment, finding this new guest a bore,

Spoke the Poet nonchalantly, to his guest observing gauntly,

"If your name to me be secret, take thyself from off my door.

You shall vanish come the morrow, just as others have before...

Just as _she_ has done before."

Then the silent guest cawed lowly, whispered darkly, murmured slowly,

Spiteful, hateful shrieked her name, alighted from the bust and door;

Talons met a crown of ash, drawing crimson with each lash,

Fleeing once the skin was broken, back to ornate bust and door;

Shrieked the Corvid, full of hatred, full of malice, loud and sore:

"_Elizabeth! No, nevermore!_"

Poet turned and Raven fled, talons crimson, riddle said,

Blatant shock and anger seeped from out the Poet's every pore.

Trails of life-blood from the head of young and frightened Poet bled,

Young and strong and proud he shouted to the beast above his door.

"You would dare attack your host? Leave! You're welcome here no more!"

Scoffing, spoke he, "Nevermore."

Then the Raven fled the tower, as the clock sung out the hour,

Leaving Poet in the darkness, bleeding, unfazed by the gore.

Poet stood, alone, dumbfounded, by the contradiction sounded

By the bird that flew as he had said that it would fly before...

By the bird that scarcely uttered more than simply, 'Nevermore.'

What was meant by, 'Nevermore?'

Should it mean his love is gone, sweet Lizzie lost with light of dawn?

Could the bird know more of him than he had given credit for?

Could it be another 'no,' refusal to alight and go?

Then why had bird abandoned ornate bust above dark chamber door?

Where had gone the threatening Craven, perched above his chamber door?

Silence answered him once more.

Crimson on his fingers fading, Poet stood unnerved, debating,

Finally deciding anguish, bloodshed inspiration bore,

Inspiration could be born from pain and hatred, blood and scorn,

Inspiration had been found by Poet in such things before.

Memories suppressed of torturous violence filled him to the core.

Anguish, inspiration bore.

Poet made quick haste debating, irrational fears berating,

His self from ancient floorboards laid before the Raven's perch then tore.

Made he way to throne and quill, crimson from his crown flowed still,

Pain the Poet welcomed as he sat himself before his door.

Sat as Raven had alighted on the bust above his door.

Sat, and wrote, and nothing more.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: The characters and all other affiliations of Black Butler belong to Yana Toboso. I also have no claim over the rights to Edgar Allen Poe's 'The Raven.'

Summary: For this, see Chapter One.

Author's Note:  To those who have waited patiently for this update, thank you.

xXx

Vanished had the Raven not, hiding, lest his self be caught,

Gazing at the child hunched o'er parchment before chamber door,

Smiled to himself, besotted, eyes aglow as creature plotted,

He would not relinquish easily a soul so long sought for,

He could wind this child 'round his finger, own him to the core.

This he'd do, he softly swore.

Feathers falling, form extending, limbs protruding and distending,

Silently the Raven donned disguise behind the chamber door.

Aptly chosen was his guise, t'would instill a great surprise

In the fragile Poet locked away from all he did abhor,

T'would surprise the child to observe his father at his door,

He had done this all before.

With this form he would arouse, whilst his soul he would carouse,

Preparations must be made before consumption, so states lore.

Weaken would he Poet's will, tease and tempt and lead until

The child broke, allowing Raven to take what he so longed for,

Take the shattered soul that would lie broken, bleeding on the floor,

Ah, but first, he must endure.

Silently approached the creature hidden by familiar feature,

Stepping close to Poet slowly, footfalls quiet on the floor,

Slight regret consumed his stare, gazing at the Poet's hair,

Cautiously a hand rose up to rest upon his crown of gore.

In an instant, wounds were closed, blood and anguish were no more.

Inspiration fled once more.

Fondly did the Raven speak, from now lips in place of beak,

Spoke regret for having caused unnecessary, cruel uproar.

Jealousy? Perhaps, unlikely, ruffling the dark locks lightly,

"Pardon, young one. Truly, your forgiveness I implore.

I have quite the temper, and it isn't easy to ignore."

Contact shook him to the core.

Shock took hold of soul once more, contact did the boy abhor,

As his wound in hand was taken, inspiration fled once more.

Smooth and soft the voice had sounded, affection and remorse abounded,

So familiar was that voice, it shook the Poet to the core.

So familiar was the hand atop his head, those footfalls on the floor.

He had known them all before.

Whirled about were throne and child, heartbeat pounding, fast and wild,

Gaze assaulting this newcomer through his barricaded door,

Azure wide with disbelief, answers did the boy bequeath,

Senses numb and screaming that the man before him was no more.

He'd been taken by the Reaper all those dreadful years before,

Taken, as his bride before.

Disbelief had Poet shaken by the form the bird had taken.

Voice and hand atop his crown, he'd felt, he'd touched, he'd heard before!

Turning now to face the creature, shock spilled over every feature,

Pain and anger filled the Poet's gaze, much stronger than before,

How dare this creature take the form of one so lost and still longed for.

It shook him to the core.

Words proceeded sense once more, 'temper' relevancy bore,

As the Poet so concluded what his mind had thought before.

What a dreadful tactic played he, stealing form from Poet's mem'ry,

Intuition proved quite grounded in what it had claimed before,

In its claim that this was not a simple Raven, nothing more.

Was this beast of ancient lore?

"Temper?!" angered Poet spat, striking hand from where it sat,

"Acts performed in anger cannot simply be forgotten, or

Trust be blindly granted to wolf in garment of the yew.

I will not be fooled by an intruder wrapped in rich couture."

Stood the child from his prison, fury seeped from every pore.

"Come, I'll see you to the door."

Onyx-heeled soles scuffed the floor, Poet making way to door,

As the newly crafted lips curled into a grin once more,

Crimson darkened near to black, bore into retreating back,

Oh so sweetly this one smelled, when anger, pain seeped from his core,

Pain of memory dragged to surface by the form he stood before.

No such taste he'd known before.

Voiced he softly, taking care, tilting head with bird-like air,

Curious about this creature, stubborn, angered, cross and sore.

"What has you so angered, kitten? Certainly you weren't so smitten

With girl as young and guileless as a child so immature?

Surely you could draw no inspiration from that filthy _whore_?

No…I think it's something more."

Once more whirled about the Poet, furious, fought not to show it,

Fire in his ocean eyes, hatred swam along the shore,

Tiny fists shook hard with fury, swore he that this bird he'd bury.

Damn this creature! Hell-spawn which had gall to speak such words impure!

Filthy cretin! Dared he call _Ciel's_ Elizabeth a _whore_?!

Disrespect, he'd have no more.

"Vile devil!" shrieked the child, body quaking, temper wild,

"Heathen! Do you think yourself a creature so superior?!

Rotten, Ugly, Unbecoming!" Fragile heart-beat fiercely drumming,

Brought a drop of stray saliva to those lips so long parched for,

How he longed to tear into that vessel, ravage it upon the floor-!

Endure, endure, endure.

"Lies, to you, I will not speak. Only truths become this beak.

I think little of your lover, lost upon the blackened shore.

You though, young one, you intrigue me, though it seems thy work fatigues thee."

Gestured to the near-bare parchment, guised intruder smirked once more.

"To think that one would draw their inspiration from such gore…

Tell me what you're waiting for."

A moment's pause was Poet given, finding himself rather driven

By the pride the Raven'd risen in his thin chest's hollow core,

Driven so to answer snidely, thin lips spreading, smirking widely,

Sarcasm, amusement dripping from those lips made to adore,

Finish in his tone as bone-thin fingers gestured toward the door,

Spoke the Poet, "…'_Nevermore'._"


End file.
